


we are bound to each other's hearts (this love is like a wildfire)

by echoes_of_realities



Category: Glee
Genre: Alternate Universe, F/F, and small amounts of Mercedes, and the music video for "Wildfire" by Seafret, based on a psych experiment by Arthur Aron
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-02
Updated: 2018-09-04
Packaged: 2019-07-03 16:34:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 13,478
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15822753
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/echoes_of_realities/pseuds/echoes_of_realities
Summary: “In 1997, psychologist Arthur Aron conducted an experiment to see if strangers could fall in love. Single volunteers were arranged into pairs. They were asked to work through 36 questions and then stare into each other’s eyes for four minutes. Aron’s experiment worked. Six months later two of his participants were married.”It’s Mercedes who convinces her to sign up for the research project, some revision of an old psychology experiment from the nineties.In the end, Santana only does it so she can shut Mercedes up, and because she could use the money. She doesn’t really expect anything to come of it, which is probably why it works out like it does.





	1. Set I

**Author's Note:**

> Based on [this video!](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=RHhkd2B87Q8) Also, you can thank [thewafflewhat](https://thewafflewhat.tumblr.com/) for this fic because my ideas were bone dry before she sent me this idea.
> 
> This Got Away From Me, so there I’m splitting it into 3 parts! (So it’s not like a single 10k long post/chapter lol.) The second part just needs editing and the third part is almost done, so either later tonight or tomorrow is when they’ll be up! Also, this is A Lot more dialogue heavy than I’m used to, so it was actually a pretty fun challenge!
> 
> Title from "Wildfire" by Seafret.

 

It’s Mercedes who convinces her to sign up for the research project, some revision of an old psychology experiment from the nineties. It’s late October, and Santana’s finishing assignments and starting midterms and she has no time for things like research for some old, psych profs, but Mercedes is insistent. She heard about it from the psych class she’s taking to complete her social science requirements, and she immediately went home to prod her roommate into doing it.

“You need to get out,” Mercedes complains for the third night in a row, “This whole lesbian hermit thing you’ve got going on is bumming me out.”

“Ha ha,” Santana says dryly. “I’m sorry that my studying is depressing you.”

Mercedes rolls her eyes. “It’s less the studying and more the fact that you haven’t left the apartment in, like, three weeks.”

“I got groceries on Monday,” Santana protests half-heartedly, “And I go to my classes.”

Mercedes doesn’t dignify that with an answer, she just keeps bugging Santana about it throughout the rest of the evening and into the next day, until Santana finally concedes, ignoring Mercedes’ obnoxious cheer with a fond eye roll.

“Great!” Mercedes calls as she heads for the kitchen, “Because I’ve already signed you up!”

Santana throws one of the couch pillows at her roommate and best friend’s retreating back, and only succeeds in eliciting a burst of laughter.

In the end, Santana only does it so she can shut Mercedes up, and because she could use the money. She doesn’t really expect anything to come of it, which is probably why it works out like it does.

 

* * *

 

She arrives at the research centre with about thirty other strangers, all nervously shuffling around and making small talk. Santana stands at the edges of the group and listens to the head researcher explain what they’re about to do. She half pays attention to the research and half studies the crowd, wondering who her partner will be; she had to fill out an initial questionnaire and now that she’s actually here, she’s nervous about the answers she wrote down, who they’ll pair her with based on what she wrote, if she’s already screwed this up. The researchers explain how they’ve selected pairs based on the initial questionnaire, how they’ll split everyone into two different groups for the sets of questions, how they are allowed to introduce themselves with names, ages, and jobs before they start, how they are to alternate reading each question or activity to their partner so they can both answer and then move on, how they have have up to an hour and a half to complete the thirty-six questions they’ll be presented with, how every half-hour the researchers will come and tell them to move onto the next set of questions.

Santana’s randomly selected for the closeness-generating procedure, the one implied to be the most intense, and before she knows it they’re calling her name and leading her down a hallway and into a small room. There’s a small table in the middle with two chairs across from each other and some recording equipment set up; the researcher who led her to the room quickly crosses the room and flicks a couple switches until the equipment quietly whirls to life. There’s also a couple water bottles and three piles of cue cards carefully stacked in the middle of the table. Santana hesitates just inside the doorway after the researcher leaves, wondering if she’s supposed to wait for her partner or just go ahead and sit down.

“Do you normally like blocking doors?” a voice asks, “Because that might be a bit of a dealbreaker.”

Santana jumps and spins around to find a tall blonde woman on the other side of the doorway, a soft, teasing smile on her face. Her blonde hair is pulled back in a slightly messy ponytail, bangs falling softly over her forehead and partially obscuring her raised eyebrows. There’s a faint spattering of freckles across her nose, her cheeks scrunched up against the brightest blue eyes Santana has ever seen in her life. She’s dressed even more casually than Santana is, in a loose shirt patterned with tiny birds and ripped jean shorts, and Santana’s eyes quickly dart down long, smooth legs and land on old, well-worn sneakers, before she meets the woman’s eyes again, flushing at the slight sparkle in the bright blue.

Santana tugs on the bottom of her leather jacket, wondering for the billionth time since she asked Mercedes that morning if she is too worried about this whole experiment (much to Mercedes’ amusement and Santana’s chagrin). She’s only dressed in her black skinny jeans and a t-shirt under her jacket, but this woman looks relaxed and casual and _good_.

Those blue eyes are still sparkling at Santana, and her smile widens, a little lopsided on one side and Santana’s heart does this weird spasming thing at the softly teasing look. “Aren’t you going to invite me in?” the woman asks, and her lips twist from that teasing smile into a slight pout at the question. “It’s not that much of a dealbreaker if you block doorways, but I do prefer a gentlewoman.”

Santana kinda forgets how to breathe and just nods wordlessly instead, stepping to the side. She tries to find her voice but the woman is just— She’s just _really_ pretty, and Santana is really hopeless when it comes to pretty girls, and she curses Mercedes for talking her into this. (But she also reminds herself to thank her, because, well—)

“Hi,” the woman says as she crosses the threshold. 

“Hi,” Santana manages, and she inwardly applauds herself for not sounding like a croaking frog, which is what she thought her voice would sound like based on how dry her mouth has become.

The woman just keeps smiling at her as she crosses the room to sit in one of the chairs, Santana trailing slowly behind her.

“Are you nervous?” the woman asks as they sit, and Santana finds herself saying _yes_ before she can even comprehend the question.

The woman tips her head to the side a little, curious and open. “Why?”

Santana shrugs and shifts awkwardly on her chair. “I dunno. We’re complete strangers and we’re supposed to tell each other really personal things. I just think it might be kind of awkward or whatever.”

“I’m Brittany, I’m twenty-one, and I’m in my fourth year at Columbia University on a math scholarship,” the woman says in response, and Santana blinks in confusion before the woman’s — _Brittany’s_ — face somehow softens even further. “Now we aren’t strangers anymore,” she explains.

Santana finds herself smiling softly at that and nods once. “I’m Santana,” she says, offering her hand for Brittany shake. Brittany’s hand is warm and soft in hers and, not that Santana wants to be a complete and utter cliché, but she feels something tingle along her fingertips where they brush Brittany’s wrist. “I’m twenty but my birthday’s in a month, and I’m also a fourth year. I’m in music tech at NYU.”

Brittany smiles again and nods. “See, not strangers?” Santana smiles and chuckles and she feels a prickle of curiosity trickle through her chest when Brittany ducks her head down to hide the pink blooming in her cheeks. 

“Do you want me to go first?” Santana asks without really thinking about it, and Brittany meets her eyes from below her lashes and nods, chewing on her bottom lip. Santana settles more comfortably in her chair, scootching it a little closer to the table before she reaches for the first cue card on the stack labelled _One_ in front of her and flips it over. “Given the choice of anyone in the world,” she reads aloud, “whom would you want as a dinner guest?”

“Dead or alive?” Brittany wonders aloud.

Santana shrugs and rereads the question to herself. “It doesn’t say, so, either?”

“Then Bernhard Riemann,” Brittany answers easily. “I just want to pick his brain on where he came up with the prime-counting function and how he feels knowing that his hypothesis still isn’t proved. Ooh, also I wanna know his thoughts on Einstein’s theory of relativity and Stephen Hawking’s gravitational singularities. Though he is German,” Brittany says thoughtfully, “I don’t know how fast I could learn German.” Santana has no clue what Brittany just said, but there’s this addicting sparkle of passion in her eyes and Santana finds herself nodding and smiling at Brittany. “What about you?” Brittany asks.

Santana thinks for a moment, before she gives a half shrug and half smile. “Stevie Nicks,” she says. “She’s just— Her music meant a lot to me when I was growing up and I would love to be able to talk to her about her writing process and just— Just ask her about everything she’s done.”

“That would be really cool,” Brittany agrees with a soft smile.

Santana tosses the card on the table and it slides until it’s almost at the recording equipment. “Discard pile,” Santana says sheepishly.

Brittany laughs and picks up her own cue card. “Would you like to be famous? In what way?”

Santana chews thoughtfully on her lip, but she already knows the answer. “Yeah,” she mumbles, and when blue eyes turn curious she swallows thickly. This is somehow so much more intense than Santana thought it would be, sharing her desires and aspirations with a complete stranger, but there’s also a heady rushing throughout her veins at how rapt and addicting Brittany’s attention is. “I’ve wanted to be a musician since I was really young,” she finally elaborates.

Brittany tips her head slightly to the side; not challenging, just curious. “What stopped you?”

Santana shrugs and looks away from Brittany’s too bright gaze. “I dunno. Money, work, luck, life in general. I went into music tech because I figured it would be as close as I could get to the industry.”

Brittany nods thoughtfully. “I think you would make a good musician.”

“Yeah?” Santana asks, and she can’t quite squash the little flicker of hope under her sternum.

Brittany nods definitively. “Totally. You’ve got the whole look and everything. And your talking voice is really pretty and nice to listen to, so you probably have a really beautiful singing voice.” Santana blinks and opens her mouth to respond, but that hint of pink is in Brittany’s cheeks again and she quickly continues. “I wanted to be a dancer when I was young, but I got a full ride math scholarship instead. And, I mean, apartments and New York.”

Santana laughs and focuses on that little blossoming of warmth in her stomach. Brittany is bright and earnest and thoughtful, and Santana feels more at ease with her than she’s felt in a very long time. “Tell me about it. My friend and I share an apartment and half the time we’re living under threat of our electricity being shut off,” she laughs and reaches for the next cue card. Brittany’s eyes remain bright on her face and she fights off her own blush. “Before making a telephone call, do you ever rehearse what you are going to say? Why?” 

“Never,” Brittany answers with a smirk.

“Never?” Santana laughs and sets the card down on the discard pile.

“Nope,” Brittany says, popping the _p_. “I really like to wing it.”

Santana laughs. “Oh I do it every time. I rehearse what I’m going to say when I _answer_ the phone.”

“Really?” Brittany asks, and there’s this bright smile scrunching her cheeks up against her eyes. 

Santana nods. “Unless it’s, like, my mom, I always have about six different scripts of what I’m going to say in any given situation.”

Brittany’s smile turns lopsided again, teasing and warm, and Santana feels that weird spasming in her chest again. “What would constitute a ‘perfect’ day for you?” she reads from the next card.

Santana thinks back to how she’s been spending her days lately, stressed out and locked in the apartment, and how much she enjoyed herself when her and Mercedes both have days off in the summer and they can wander down to the park by their apartment, a guitar in one hand and a busking permit in the other. Santana explains it to Brittany and worries that she’s not describing how magical it is, her and Mercedes’ voices harmonizing together and people pausing for a moment or two before throwing some change into their guitar case, but with the way Brittany’s eyes sparkle and her small smile scrunches her cheeks, Santana knows that Brittany understands. Santana flushes and feels a little overwhelmed by the soft look on Brittany’s face. “What about you?” she asks quickly.

Brittany tactfully doesn’t say anything about the quick question and instead just shrugs a little. “I love spending the day at the dance studio,” she says as she reaches for the next cue card, “Or even just running dumb little errands with my friends. I dunno why but there’s something fun about wandering around a Drug Store for no real reason.” She flips the next card over and Santana watches as her eyes dart across the card to read it quickly to herself before she reads it aloud. “When did you last sing to yourself? To someone else?”

“Well I sang to myself in the shower this morning, obviously,” Santana answers quickly.

Brittany giggles and Santana smiles involuntarily at the adorable sound; she’s quickly finding herself becoming addicted to the warm feeling in her chest whenever she makes Brittany laugh. “Me too, obviously. The last time I sang to someone was probably to my neighbour. Our cats like to hang out and I think Lord Tubbington has a crush on his cat so I like to provide the serenading for him.”

Santana tries not to laugh, she _really_ does, but— “Lord Tubbington?” Santana asks incredulously around her giggles, watching as Brittany takes on a mock-admonishing look.

“Tubbs is very sensitive about his weight,” she says seriously, and even though Santana has known her for probably about fifteen minutes, she can already see the amusement in Brittany’s eyes despite her serious frown; it’s in the way her eyes crinkle up at the corners and turn catlike and sparkling, and Santana just giggles harder when Brittany’s face breaks and she bursts out laughing too. “Actually,” she adds through her giggles, “It was my sister’s birthday on Tuesday so it was probably then. Tubbs and I did a very beautiful serenade to her. She hung up halfway through.”

“Mercedes and I sing around the apartment a lot actually,” Santana finally manages through her amusement, a smile still stretched across her face. 

Brittany smiles in response and Santana quickly ducks her head and grabs the next card. She’s not sure what it is, but there’s something about Brittany that makes it disarmingly easy to be honest, something that makes her want to crack herself wide open in front of her; she wonders if the other research participants are feeling this way, if that’s the whole point of this research, to see how vulnerable you can be with a stranger, hoping and trusting that they won’t make you regret it.

Santana hasn’t known Brittany that long, but she has a feeling she won’t regret opening up to her.

(She briefly wonders if all this is to test the idea of love at first sight. Santana’s never believed in it before, but Brittany’s open and easy and kind and her laugh makes Santana’s chest spasm and now she’s starting to wonder—)

“If you were able to live to the age of ninety,” Santana reads, and her heart sinks as her eyes dart to the rest of the question; she already knows that her answer for this one will hurt, “and retain either the mind or body of a thirty year-old for the last sixty years of your life, which would you want?”

Brittany hesitates for a moment. “The body.”

“Well with legs like that,” Santana agrees, and then immediately flushes.

Brittany flushes too and ducks her head with a smile. “If I could keep dancing until I was ninety years old I would die happy,” she says, “I don’t need all the math stuff up here.” She gestures to her head and Santana manages a small smile. Brittany seems to sense something different with Santana’s answer and lets her hand fall to the table, leaning forward slightly with her brows drawn together in concern. “What would you choose?”

“I’d want the mind,” Santana says quietly.

“Why?” Brittany prompts just as softly.

“My abuela had Alzheimer’s and she— Well let’s just say I had to re-come out to her a lot because of— This—” Santana hesitates and sighs, digging her nail into the edge of the table and picking at the cheap plastic surrounding the small edge. “This dumb thing. And she never took it too well.”

“I’m sorry,” Brittany whispers, and when Santana glances up Brittany looks so earnest that something in Santana’s chest eases. “That really sucks.”

Santana shrugs and manages a small smile before reaching for her water bottle. “Yeah, it really does,” she agrees softly, covering the lump in her throat with a gulp of water.

Brittany swallows and reaches for the next cue card, glancing up at Santana for permission to continue, and Santana’s chest does that spasming thing again. She nods and screws the cap back on her water bottle. “Man these last two are dark,” Brittany mutters before clearing her throat slightly. “Do you have a secret hunch about how you will die?”

Santana frowns as she thinks. “I have absolutely no clue. Old age probably? I dunno, I can’t say I’ve ever thought about it before.” Santana glances at Brittany and sees her eyes still focused on the cue card. “What about you?” she prompts.

Brittany shakes her head and shrugs. “Cancer. Isn’t that how everyone dies these days?”

Santana wrinkles her nose. “Morbid,” she says.

Brittany shrugs and seems to hesitate for moment before she sighs a little, and Santana’s chest _aches_ at how sad she sounds. “All of my grandparents died of cancer,” she explains emotionlessly, as if she’s thought about this a lot before, “So I’m at a higher risk than most people.”

Santana wants to reach out and take Brittany’s hand, but she settles for offering Brittany a smile she hopes is sympathetic. “I’m sorry,” she says, and she thinks of what Brittany just said to her and hopes that it’s enough, “That really sucks.”

Brittany cracks a tiny, knowing smile and glances up at Santana. “Thanks,” she murmurs.

Santana reaches for the next cue card and hopes it’s not as heavy as the last two. She wants Brittany’s eyes to light up again with a desperation she doesn’t quite understand. “Name three things you and your partner appear to have in common,” she reads. She only has to think for a moment before she offers, “Music. You’re a dancer and I’m a musician.”

Brittany hums and looks thoughtful before she gets this sharp, wicked gleam in her eyes, turning them catlike again. “We both like girls,” she says, and the way she emphasizes _like_ makes Santana flush and makes Brittany look bright and proud.

“We, uh,” Santana stutters, “We, um, we’re both not from New York?”

“I’m from Indiana,” Brittany agrees. “I grew up in Decatur.”

Santana relaxes and brightens (and tries to ignore her still hot blush). “No way! I’m from Lima.”

Brittany grins. “What really? We grew up, like, an hour from each other.” Santana laughs as Brittany reaches for the next card. “If you could change anything about the way you were raised, what would it be?” she asks.

Santana hesitates and glances at the card in Brittany’s hands. “I wish my mom left my father sooner. She— She wasn’t happy, and he’s a big part of why I fought with internal homophobia so much. But she thought I should have my father in my life, which, I mean for some kids they do need that second parent but, I dunno.” Santana shrugs a little and glances up to find Brittany’s eyes rapt and earnest on her. “I never really needed anyone but my mom. What about you?”

Brittany chews on her lip and Santana’s eyes are drawn to the movement. Her cheeks flush again and she quickly looks back up to Brittany’s eyes; she kind of feels like she’s not going to stop blushing today, and it’s a little embarrassing. But Brittany’s eyes are on the cue card in Santana’s hands and she’s still chewing on her lip, and Santana’s embarrassment fades completely away and she finds herself leaning closer to Brittany. “I wish—” she starts and then bites down harder on her lip. “I wish that my teachers and my parents realized I had dyslexia earlier.”

“Oh yeah?” Santana prompts gently when Brittany trails off.

Brittany blinks and gives Santana a slightly lopsided smile. “Yeah. It’s pretty mild, but I really struggled with school through most of elementary. It wasn’t until my sixth grade counsellor tested me and got me the right resources that I actually started to understand my classes.”

“That sucks,” Santana murmurs, “but at least you eventually got it worked out. And now,” Santana grins at Brittany, delighting in the returning grin it elicits, “Well, now you obviously do very well in school, Ms. Full Ride Math Scholarship.”

Brittany flushes so bright that it obscures the freckles along her cheeks and Santana’s breath catches. She’s just reaching for the next card, one eye on Brittany’s blush and one eye making sure she only picks up one card, when the door swings open and a researcher pokes her head in, causing Santana to jump and Brittany to start giggling. “It’s been thirty minutes,” the researcher announces. “It’s time to move on to set two.”

Brittany and Santana look at each other in shock as the researcher closes the door. “It’s been half an hour?” Brittany says in disbelief, “It does not feel like that much time has passed.” 

“I thought we were doing good on time,” Santana agrees, tossing the card still in her hand onto the discard pile. Brittany shoves the last two cards of set one over to the edge of the table, out of both of their reach. “That’s crazy.”

Brittany studies Santana for a moment, chewing on her lip again. “This might sound a little weird, or like, kinda creepy, but I feel like I know you, you know?”

Santana smiles and catches Brittany’s eyes, the bright blue boring into her own eyes until Santana feels a little like Brittany is staring right into her soul. “No, I know what you mean,” Santana finally manages when she feels like Brittany’s eyes aren’t going to make her crumble. “It’s kinda weird how comfortable I already feel around you,” she agrees.

“I, uh, I guess that’s the point of this whole thing, huh?” Brittany asks softly.

Santana swallows thickly as she nods and the moment stretches out between them until Santana feels a little like she’s falling. She blinks quickly and clears her throat. “Uh, we should probably keep going, so we don’t run out of time,” she tries to suggest but it comes out a lot quieter than she intended, and she thinks it’s because her heart seems to have relocated to her throat to make room for the butterflies fluttering around her ribs.

Brittany nods and shoots Santana a small, shy smile as she reaches for the first card of set two. 

 


	2. Set II

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here’s Part 2 and Set II of the questions! Part 3 is coming either later today or early tomorrow!

“If a crystal ball could tell you the truth about yourself,” Brittany reads from the card, “your life, the future, or anything else, what would you want to know?”

“Uh,” Santana says, “They’re really not playing around with this set, are they?” Brittany laughs a little and shakes her head in agreement. “Um, maybe, that, uh, I dunno? I guess I’d want to know that I’ll end up with someone eventually, that I’ll fall in love and get married and do all that sappy shit.”

“Why?” Brittany asks softly.

Santana blinks and manages a small smile. She hadn’t really expected to be prodded more, but she finds it more endearing than annoying when blue eyes are watching her so carefully. “I dunno, doesn’t everyone want to know that? That there’s someone out there for you? That if you’re patient enough, all your waiting and wondering will pay off.” 

“I guess you’re right,” Brittany concedes.

“Don’t you want to know that too?” Santana asks. 

Brittany hesitates and shrugs a little, her eyes darting across the room before landing on Santana’s, bright and steady. “I mean, a little, but I mostly want to know that I won’t be stuck in some dumb office job for the rest of my life.” Santana finds herself leaning on her elbows so she’s closer to Brittany, and she’s about to pull away and lean back in her chair because she still feels a little weird about how comfortable she already is around Brittany, when she realizes Brittany is leaning just as far in as she is. “I kind of want to keep the whole soulmate thing a surprise.”

Santana blinks and smiles a little at Brittany, watching light pink bloom across pale skin in awe. “You believe in soulmates?”

Brittany takes a deep breath and glances away, her eyes catching Santana’s under her lashes barely a second later. “I’d like to,” she says, “I’d really like to.”

Santana swallows thickly as she reaches for the next cue card, finding that the air has become much more charged before. Her fingers shake a little and she chides herself for the hope blooming in her chest, but as she’s learning during this whole experiment, it’s hard to control her involuntary reactions to Brittany. “Is there something that you’ve dreamed of doing for a long time? Why haven’t you done it?”

“I want to go skydiving,” Brittany says automatically. 

Santana laughs at her quick answer. “You know, I can see that. Why haven’t you?”

Brittany’s expression turns a little sheepish and a little bashful. “I’m scared of heights.” Santana can’t help the bark of laughter that escapes her, and she doesn’t feel bad about it when Brittany gives a small giggle too. “Yeah, yeah, I know. But I’ve always wanted to be able to fly, and skydiving is basically the closest you can get without growing wings or using an airplane.”

Santana grins and her eyes catch and hold on Brittany’s for a long moment before she blinks out of her daze and glances down at the card in her hands. “I think. Um. I’ve always wanted to learn another instrument. Like I can play guitar pretty decently, and I know a _tiny_ bit of piano, but I’ve always wanted to know how to play something else.”

“What instrument?” Brittany prompts, grinning when Santana starts to protest. “You’ve obviously thought about this before. You know what instrument.”

“Honestly?” Santana asks reluctantly. Brittany nods eagerly. “It’s super nerdy, but I’ve always wanted to learn how to play the cello.”

Brittany’s grin softens until it’s that tiny, thin lipped smile, like Brittany’s eating something sweet. “That’d be really cool.”

Santana rolls her eyes a little and pretends she’s not as happy to hear that as she is as she tosses the card onto the discard pile. “Your turn.”

Brittany giggles as she grabs the one, her eyes darting over the writing to read it quickly to herself before she reads it out loud. Santana’s noticed it every time she does it, and it’s very endearing and makes something flutter deep in her chest. “What is the greatest accomplishment of your life?”

“Coming out to my mom,” Santana answers without hesitating. “It took me— It took me forever to work up the courage, and in the end I kind of only did it at that time because outside things forced me to, but that was one of the bravest things I’ve ever done.”

“You should be proud of that,” Brittany agrees, her eyes steady on Santana’s and the softest smile playing at her lips. “I was never really in the closet, my mom said I’ve been chasing girls and boys since I was in diapers,” Santana laughs at the image that evokes, and Brittany’s tiny smiles splits into a grin in response, “but I have a couple friends who really struggled with it, so I know how far most people usually come before they’re ready to come out.”

“Oh yeah that’s so true, but also,” Santana laughs a little at the memory, “The best part for me was that my mom’s known I was gay since I was, like, seven and she was just waiting for me to catch up.”

“There’s another thing we have in common,” Brittany offers, and her eyes are catlike and teasing again, “We been chasin’ pretty girls since we’s just young’uns.”

Santana laughs again, this time at the accent Brittany’s adopted, and her there’s a small ache in the hinge of her jaw from laughing so much. She can’t remember the last time she was this relaxed and at ease with someone (Mercedes aside), especially with someone she essentially just met; she’s been so focused on papers and group projects and midterms lately that she hadn’t even realized her social life falling to the side. She’ll really have to thank Mercedes later, not only has she met what is perhaps the prettiest girl in the world, but she’s also felt stress and tension ease out of her back over the course of the last forty-ish minutes, and Santana’s pretty sure it’s mostly thanks to Brittany.

“Anyways,” Brittany says, making Santana laugh harder at the way Brittany’s face falls into seriousness just as quickly as it had become goofy. There’s still amusement dancing in Brittany’s cat-eyes, and Santana knows that Brittany is fighting to control her delight as much as Santana is fighting to control her giggles. “My greatest accomplishment is probably,” she trails off as she waits for Santana to compose herself, sending tiny, almost fond smiles at Santana when she finally manages to sit back up properly. “My greatest accomplishment is probably getting that scholarship to Columbia,” Brittany finally admits shyly, and Santana sobers up quickly. “No one in my town really thought I’d ever make it out, least of all me, so when I got that call I was over the moon.”

“That’s incredible, Brittany,” Santana offers earnestly, “I don’t know anyone smart enough to get a full ride for _math_. Like everyone and their dog gets athletic scholarships these days, but you must be a genius or something.”

Santana doesn’t really get it, because at the word genius Brittany flushes darker red than she’s seen today and ducks her head, scrambling for her water bottle and cracking the lid for the first time and taking a gulp of water. Santana reaches for the next card but keeps her eyes on Brittany. “You okay?” she murmurs when Brittany doesn’t meet her eyes.

 

Brittany shakes her head a little and gives Santana a smile so full of wonder that Santana’s breath catches somewhere in her chest. “I’m perfect. It’s just— Um, not many people have ever called me a genius before so— It just kind of— Gets me. I guess.”

Santana swallows and fingers the card in her hands, never taking her eyes off of Brittany. “I get that,” she whispers, “But you shouldn’t be so shocked. You got a _full ride_ to _Columbia_. An Ivy League school. You’re _smart_ , Brittany. Obviously really, _really_ smart.”

Brittany meets Santana’s eyes and there’s a long moment of charged silence before she smiles a little and nods, ducking her head under Santana’s dark gaze. Santana swallows and looks down at the card in her hand, giving Brittany a moment before she reads the next question. “What do you value most in a friendship?”

Brittany coughs a little, and Santana’s eyes are drawn to the way Brittany’s throat works as she swallows before darting back to her blue eyes. “Um, the ability to be comfortable with them, I think. Like being able to laugh and cry and then laugh again all in one conversation is really important to me. So understanding? I think.” Brittany nods decisively and glances back up at Santana. “I value understanding the most. What about you?”

“Loyalty,” Santana answers easily. “I need to know someone’s got my back to be friends with them because I’ve been burnt by that in the past. I need to know that I can trust them. But I also value someone being able to be honest with me and call me on my shit sometimes,” Santana adds sheepishly.

Brittany chuckles and reaches for the next card. “What is your most treasured memory?”

“Um, probably,” Santana starts, and then pauses when her mind goes blank. “Geez, I dunno. That one’s hard.”

“Yeah,” Brittany agrees, absently rereading the question. “It’s so broad. Maybe just describe _a_ treasured memory instead?”

“Um. I guess. Maybe the day Mercedes and I got the keys to our apartment?” Santana suggests slowly. “It was the first time either of us were away from home, and we got this tiny, kinda sketchy apartment and one of the stove elements doesn’t light and the heat goes out every couple of weeks, but it was _ours_ , you know?”

Brittany nods and smiles. “I’ve been in the dorms all four years because of my scholarship, but it’s _mine_ so I get that. Mine’s probably,” Brittany trails off and traces the edge of the card. “Um, this is harder than I thought.” Santana giggles and patiently waits. Brittany’s expressions are adorable when she’s thinking. Her brow draws low over catlike blue eyes, and her mouth twists back and forth between a pout and lips pressed thinly together. Santana’s not quite sure how this much _adorable_ is contained in one person, but it makes the best kind of nerves flutter in Santana’s stomach. “I guess,” Brittany finally manages, “it’s probably back when I was in middle school. My parents were going through a rough spot in their marriage when I was, like, twelve, I think? My sister was about four, so, yeah, I was twelve. Anyways, our parents didn’t want us around while they were fighting, so our aunt and uncle came and took us to Chicago for the weekend and we had so much fun. My aunt grew up in Chicago so she knew the city really well and took us to so many cool places, and we both forgot our parents were ever fighting.”

“That’s really cute,” Santana says. Brittany flushes and smiles as Santana reaches for the next card. “What’s your most terrible memory? Geez, some of these are fun and then there’s ones like this.”

Brittany laughs a little then grows small and solemn, chewing on her lip again. “Um, probably. One of my friends from high school was in a really bad car accident in our senior year.” Brittany’s eyes slide past Santana’s head and fix on something past her shoulder; Santana knows if she turns she won’t see anything, but she can tell Brittany’s can see ever single moment of that memory in the air behind Santana. “She, uh, she was in a coma for a while and then in a wheelchair for almost the entire rest of the school year.”

“That’s awful, Britt,” Santana murmurs. 

Brittany shrugs a little and her eyes dart back to Santana’s and she seems comes back into herself again. “She’s still alive, and that’s all that really matters. And she was able to walk across the grad stage, so at the time it was really scary, but now it just makes me thankful she’s still here. Anyways,” she says, clearing her throat a little, “What’s yours?”

“Oh that’s easy,” Santana says, hoping that her answer will give Brittany a couple minutes to compose herself, “Being outed to most of north-west Ohio in a campaign ad.”

“ _What_?” Brittany hisses.

Santana shrugs. “I was a cheerleader in high school and I— I wasn’t always very nice about it, so I made a couple enemies by my senior year. And I was outed in the hallway and some kid overheard and told their uncle who was running for congress or something. That’s why— That’s why I had to come out when I did. And why I have to keep coming out to my abuela, because she has a bunch of movies PVR’d from back then and that stupid ad is in the commercial breaks of almost all of them.”

“That’s such a gross invasion of privacy,” Brittany snarls, and Santana blinks at the pure outrage on her face, at the bright rage in her blue eyes. “I can’t believe anyone would do that to _any_ one, especially a minor.”

Santana smiles sadly. “Yeah, I’ve never seen my mom so mad before. She got it taken down within the week but— You know, the damage had already been done.”

“That’s just— I’m so—” Brittany takes a deep breath through her nose and meets Santana’s eyes. “That really fucking sucks.”

Santana barks a surprised laugh and it seems to ease the tension in Brittany’s expression because she softens a little. “Yeah it does. But it’s whatever now.”

Brittany studies Santana’s face for a long moment before she reaches for the next card. “If you knew that in one year you would die suddenly,” she reads, “would you change anything about the way you are now living? Why?”

Santana smiles. “I would say screw it and become a musician. Even if I didn’t make it big and lost all my money, what’s there to lose? If I was out of a home I’d at least still have music in my life, you know?” Brittany nods, and there’s something bright and warm in her eyes that makes Santana’s cheeks warm. “What about you?” she asks quickly.

“I don’t know if I would change anything,” Brittany says thoughtfully. “There’s nothing in my life that I’m really unhappy with. Maybe I’d look for love or something, but if I’m going to die in a year I don’t know if I’d want to put anyone in that position.” She reaches for the next card. “How close and warm is your family? Do you feel your childhood was happier than most other people’s?”

“I’m really close with my mom, and my aunt, my mom’s sister. But other than that I’m not that close with anyone else, not since—” Santana cuts herself off. She doesn’t often tell people about the ad, aside from Mercedes because she was there, none of her current friends know anything about the ad, but she just told Brittany about it, and something tells her Brittany is different than her college friends, so she takes a deep breath and braces herself. “Not since that ad. I used to practically live with my abuela because my mom was working so much after she left my father, but she more or less disowned me unless I became ‘not gay’ or whatever, so. I dunno. My childhood was a little sadder I guess with my father being so distant while my parents were married, and now we’ve been estranged for almost five years. And there’s the whole internal homophobia thing, and my father’s family were _super_ homophobic too, so that didn’t help. But all things considered, I was pretty happy. And my mom and me are still closer than most are I think.” Brittany’s eyes are bright and steady on hers, and Santana finds it momentarily hard to concentrate. “It’s always just been me and my mom,” Santana finishes lamely, but Brittany is still bright and earnest and Santana gives her a small smile. “What about your family?”

“I’m pretty close with my family, especially my sister, even though she’s only thirteen right now and has turned into the most obnoxious teenager. And my childhood was pretty happy. Basically everyone in my family were all chill with me being bi. Except for my Uncle Tom, but everyone has an Uncle Tom in their family.”

Santana laughs. “The one who always says questionable things at thanksgiving and wonders when you’ll finally bring a boyfriend home as if _that’s_ the most important thing in your future.”

“And his Facebook posts are always aggressively conservative!” Brittany agrees. “And passively racist _and_ sexist _and_ homophobic!”

“That’s the one!”

“There’s one in every family, sire,” Brittany teases in a haughty accent.

Santana giggles but manages to get out the “ _Two_ in mine, actually” before they both burst into giggles.

Brittany’s smile is bright and warm and it makes that fluttery thing spasm deep in Santana’s chest. “Anyway,” Brittany continues, “I’m pretty close with my mom, but, um. Like, I love her and I know she loves me, but sometimes she doesn’t really _get_ me, you know. I’m a lot more like my dad. Even though he’s really my step-dad.”

“Step-dad?” Santana asks before she can stop herself.

“It’s,” Brittany trails off before settling on, “messy. It’s one of the reasons my parents went through that rough patch.”

Santana nods and offers Brittany a small smile. “Well it’s good that you’re so close with him then,” Santana offers and reaches for the next card when the door swings open and Santana jumps again, just like last time, and Brittany giggles again, just like last time, but somehow it’s even warmer than before.

“It’s been half an hour,” the researcher says, already starting to close the door, “Time to move on to set three.”

“Jesus,” Santana mutters, tossing the card in her hand onto the pile. “I thought we were doing better for time this time.”

Brittany thumbs through the remaining cards. “There’s four left. Man we really slowed down this time.”

Santana bites her lip and gives Brittany a shy smile. “That’s true, but I kinda like it. It gives us more time to talk about the questions we did get to,” she mumbles.

Brittany’s smile deepens and pink blooms across her cheeks. “I like talking to you,” she admits quietly. “You make me feel like— Like a girl again, I guess. Like my body wakes up.”

Santana grows shy and bashful and fidgets with her hands, and that blooming warmth grows and grows until she feels less like she’s falling and more like she’s waiting for someone to catch her. “I know what you mean,” Santana agrees softly, and her heart leaps in her chest at the sparkle of something unnameable in Brittany’s eyes. “I’m usually pretty guarded but it’s— It’s really easy to open up to you and not feel scared you’re going to, like, turn on me. So. I get it.”

Brittany holds her gaze, bright and warm and _blue_ , and Santana feels her cheeks heat up, but doesn’t feel the need to look away this time, even as she’s reaching for the first card of set three.


	3. Set III

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The final part!!
> 
> (Also I finally figured out why this was so damn hard, and it’s that, as complete strangers in a psych experiment, this version of Brittana lacks the physicality they usually have in canon or in my other aus, and that was both challenging and fun to write tbh!)

Santana flips the first card of the third set over and feels just a hint of disappointment creep through her at the idea that their time together is almost done. She can scarcely remember how worried she was this morning and all the way into this room, how awkward and nervous she was when she turned around to find a pretty, blonde stranger on the other side of the door. Brittany keeps smiling at her, their eyes caught on each other until Santana is forced to look down in order to read the card. “Make three true ‘we’ statements each,” Santana reads. “For instance, ‘We are both in this room feeling,’” she trails off.

There’s a beat of silence filled with the whirling of the recording equipment that Santana completely forgot about, before Brittany says, “Huh?”

Santana glances up and finds Brittany’s brows drawn together in confusion and her lips pursed in a pout; it’s somehow even more adorable than Brittany is just in general, and Santana’s stomach flips a little as her chest explodes in butterflies. “I think the feeling thing is just an example. Like ‘we are both tired fourth year students running on coffee’ would work too.”

Brittany’s face softens and brightens as she bursts into giggles. “How do you know I drink coffee?” she teases.

Santana shrugs and grins widely. “Well, for one, you’re a fourth year student,” she says, and Brittany nods and giggles in concession, “And for two, how else would you have dragged yourself here at eight-thirty on a Saturday.”

“Those are both very true,” Brittany agrees around her smile. “So we’ve got one statement. Um, what about, we’re both, uh, we both feel comfortable around each other now?”

Santana flicks the corner of the card in her hand with a careful finger. “I would agree with that. I haven’t had a conversation like this for a very long time.”

Brittany’s face softens and Santana’s chest spasms, but it doesn’t startle her this time. She’s starting to get used to the bright, lifting feeling, and it makes even more warmth settle deep beneath her sternum. “Neither have I,” Brittany agrees, and Santana’s feels her fingers relax before she even realized they were tense. “And one more thing could be, um, we both— Ooh! We were both cheerleaders in high school.”

It takes a moment before it processes, and Santana has to quickly go over what she’s told Brittany already, but when it understands she laughs. “What? Really?”

Brittany shrugs. “Cheerleading was the closest I could get to dancing at school.”

“That’s crazy. We were probably at a bunch of the same competitions in high school.”

Brittany’s eyes scrunch up as she laughs. “I didn’t even think of that. I can’t believe how many chances we had to meet each other before today.”

“It’s wild,” Santana agrees. She reaches for her water bottle at the same time Brittany reaches for the next card, and Santana feels that same tingle in her fingertips as she did when she shook Brittany’s hand what feels like forever ago; it feels like her nerves finally woke up after a long sleep, and at that moment she understands exactly what Brittany meant at the end of the set two questions, about feeling like her body is waking up.

Brittany doesn’t notice Santana’s revelation, but Santana feels like everything’s changed and charged in the best way possible. 

(Her mind wanders back to her earlier curiosity of whether this experiment is testing love at first sight. Santana thinks she might believe in it now, maybe, or at least in the ability to fall in love with a stranger. Not that she thinks she’s in love with Brittany, but she thinks she could be, maybe, given time.)

“Complete this sentence,” Brittany starts, “‘I wish I had someone with whom I could share,’” she trails off. She seems to notice Santana’s slight daze and gives her a curious smile before rereading the card in her mind; Santana can tell because her eyes quickly dart across the card again and her lips move silently as she mouths the words. “I wish I had someone I could share dance with. My sister and I used to dance around the house _all_ the time, but since I moved out we don’t really get to do that anymore except for, like, Christmas. And I’ve had a bachelor room at Columbia it gets pretty lonely when there’s no one there to goof off with.”

Santana smiles and bites her tongue to keep it from getting to wide and adoring. “That’s cute.”

Brittany shrugs and ducks her head, a smile playing across her lips. “What about you?”

“I wish I had someone I could share New Year’s Day with,” Santana says without thinking.

“New Year’s Day and not Eve?” Brittany asks, and Santana feels heat rise in her cheeks.

“Yeah,” she mumbles bashfully, “New Year’s Eve is all about the partying or whatever, and I can do that with anyone, but I’ve always wanted someone I could wake up on New Year’s Day with.”

“You’re kind of a romantic, aren’t you,” Brittany accuses softly, fondly.

“What?” Santana protests around an airy laugh. “No way!”

“You totally are!” Brittany argues, and her smile spreads until it scrunches her eyes up. “Back at the beginning of the set two questions you said you wanted all of that sappy stuff like falling in love and marriage. And you want to share New Year’s Day with someone over New Year’s Eve parties? A total hopeless romantic! And you’re blushing right now!”

Santana holds her hands to her cheeks, and that’s really what gives her away, but she manages a sputtering “How can you even tell?”

Brittany’s giggle is bright and musical and it makes Santana desperate to hear it again like it has every time she’s heard it over the past hour or so. “You get this, like, really breathless look when you start blushing,” Brittany explains, her eyes sparkling, “and you duck your head down and get all bashful and smily. And your dimples come out.”

Santana’s pretty sure she just blushes more furiously as she reaches for the next card. “If you were going to become a close friend with your partner,” she reads instead of dignifying that with an answer, “please share what would be important for them to know.”

“Um,” Brittany says, but her eyes are still teasing and catlike, “I guess, I dunno. Like happy or good or bad or what?”

Santana shrugs. “Why not do two things I should know?”

“Okay, well bad is easy,” Brittany starts, “I hold grudges for a very long time, and I find it hard to forgive people when they’ve wronged the people I love. And another one would probably be that I have a kinda weird sense of humour. Or not weird I guess,” Brittany chews on her lip and, again, Santana’s eyes are drawn to the movement. She wants to reach out and brush the teeth indents from the pink skin with her thumb, but that would be a little weird so she just fidgets with the card in her hands instead. “Just different? Like not a lot of people really get my jokes, I guess.”

Santana blinks and frowns a little. “What, really? I think you’re hilarious!” Santana can see the question in Brittany’s eyes and she gives her a small smile. “I’ve laughed more often and harder in this past hour than I have in a _very_ long time.”

Brittany’s eyes and smile softens until she looks like she might melt. “Your turn,” she prompts gently.

Santana puts the card in the discard pile and gives Brittany a small smile. “I’ll start with bad too then, which is probably that I can get really, um, bitchy? I guess. When I get scared I get really mean, and it’s not nearly as bad now, but when I was in the closet in high school I was bitchy and mean more often than I wasn’t.” 

Brittany doesn’t look judgemental or challenging, just understanding. “Sometimes when people get mean they’re really just scared,” Brittany agrees, and there’s a slight question in her eyes, and Santana nods encouragingly. Brittany’s eyes turn catlike and teasing again and Santana’s chest spasms again. “You’re just like Lord Tubbington, he gets angry and mean and hissy whenever I try to take him to the vet, but he’s just scared.”

Santana bursts out laughing, taking in the pride glow to Brittany’s face and feeling that spasm in her chest again. “I’m obviously much prettier than Lord Tubbington though,” she teases through her giggles.

She doesn’t expect it when Brittany grows soft and mumbles her agreement, colour spreading in tiny blooms of pink, her eyes surprised as if she didn’t realize what she said until after. She reaches for her water bottle and quickly drinks from it, and Santana gives her a moment to regain her composure, delighting in the flutter of butterflies at Brittany’s assent. 

“Since you already know about me being a hopeless romantic,” Santana teases softly, “I might as well expose myself more. Apparently I’m really cuddly when I’m sleepy.”

Brittany’s eyes glow and the sparkling blue makes Santana’s breath catch. “That’s adorable,” Brittany coos.

“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” Santana laughs, “Mercedes usually gets the brunt of it, especially on our flights back to Ohio.”

The pink from Brittany’s blush stays in her cheeks even as she reaches for the next card and reads the question aloud. “Tell your partner something you like about them already.”

Santana says the first thing that comes to her mind. “I like your laugh,” she says easily, and the pink still in Brittany’s cheeks darkens as she ducks her head, “And your smile. I like how you smile and laugh with your whole face. Like you smile with your eyes and your cheeks always scrunch up.” Santana fights her own blush, but at the awed look in Brittany’s eyes she finds it easy to continue despite the heat rushing under her skin. “I really like it because every time you laugh it makes me smile too.”

“Thank you,” Brittany says earnestly, and she takes a moment to breathe deeply, smiling softly to herself, before she meets Santana’s eyes. “I like your dimples because I like how comfortable you’ve gotten,” Brittany says carefully, “Like at the beginning of set one your smile was really pretty but I didn’t even realize it wasn’t your full one until I told you about Tubbs you started _really_ laughing and I realized you have dimples.” Brittany shrugs a little and smiles up at Santana from below her lashes. “I like your dimples because now I know they’re part of your special, genuine smile.”

Santana feels a little too full of light, like if it blooms up any further she’ll burst, but she somehow manages to thank Brittany without spontaneously combusting from all the warmth in her chest as she reaches for the next card. “Share with your partner an embarrassing moment in your life,” she reads. “Oh I have a good one for this.”

“Go ahead,” Brittany offers, “I need to think of one.”

“Okay, so keep in mind this was in my freshman year of college, and no one makes good decisions in that year,” Santana warns. “But I, uh, I was in a really weird place because Mercedes was seeing someone and I hadn’t really made any friends yet. I mean, it wasn’t like I was in a bad place or anything, just a _weird_ place, because I thought I needed to do my whole teenage rebellion thing or whatever three weeks before midterms started, so I dyed my hair blonde.”

Brittany doesn’t say anything for a very long time, and then, “Please tell me you still have pictures.”

Santana bursts out laughing. “I deleted _all_ evidence of that, but knowing Mercedes she probably saved some of them so she can embarrass me in the future.”

“I need meet Mercedes after this so I can see those pictures,” Brittany insists through her own giggles, and something in Santana’s chest flutters at the thought of there being an _after this_.

“Enough about me,” Santana says, laughing harder when Brittany mouths _This isn’t over_ , “Your turn for embarrassing moments.”

Brittany only has to think for another moment before she brightens. “Okay, so you know how some people sleepwalk?”

Santana can’t help the smile already spreading across her face. “Uh-huh.”

“Right, so, I _never_ sleepwalked as a kid, like _ever_ , and so it never really crossed my mind. But I was at summer camp one year when I was like, I dunno, maybe eleven? I was sharing a room with a couple other girls from school and our counsellor and we were sleeping on these super creaky old bunkbeds. And I guess it’s a good thing I was on the bottom bunk because, at some point through the night, I got up and started dancing.”

“You were sleep-dancing?” Santana squeaks gleefully in response.

Brittany just laughs. “Yeah, I dunno. I’ve done it a couple times since then, but I never just sleepwalk, I always sleep-dance. I think my parents still have all the videos.”

Santana chews on her lip but it doesn’t stop her smile. “You can only see my blonde hair if I get to see these sleep-dancing videos.”

Brittany instantly grins widely. “Deal,” she says, offering her hand for Santana to shake. Those tingles buzz pleasantly in Santana’s fingertips again and Brittany slowly withdraws her hand from Santana’s to grab the next card. “Of all the people in your family, whose death would you find most disturbing? Why?”

“My mom,” Santana says. “For most of my life it’s been just me and her, and I don’t know what I’d do without her. I definitely wouldn’t be where I am today without her love and support, and if I lost her—” Santana chokes on the word for a moment, and Brittany just watches her with bright, sympathetic eyes, her fingers twitching around the card. “If I lost her, I would be devastated. I don’t know what I’d do with myself because, aside from my aunt, she’s the only family I have who hasn’t disowned me.”

“I get that,” Brittany murmurs softly. There’s a soft beat of silence before Brittany gives her answer. “For me it would be my sister, because she’s my baby sister. I wouldn’t be able to handle it now and I don’t think I would be able to handle it when were both old and wrinkly. I mean, she’s my _baby_ sister, you know?”

Santana reaches for the next card. “It’s a little like whiplash with the way these cards go from funny to depressing so quickly.”

“It really is,” Brittany agrees, hesitating and meeting Santana’s eyes with her bright ones, a hint of shyness playing in Brittany’s smile, “But, I don’t think there’s anyone else I would rather do this with.”

Santana smiles just as softly, feeling just as shy and bashful. “Me too,” she murmurs. The card in her hands feels heavy as she turns it around to read it. “Share a personal problem and ask your partner’s advice on how he or she might handle it. Also, ask your partner to—”

The door swings open right in the middle of Santana’s question, and Santana only jumps a little this time, but Brittany giggles just as brightly as before. “The final half hour is up,” the researcher says as she steps into the room. Brittany and Santana’s gazes both swing towards each other in shock. “It’s time for the final step of the experiment.” The researcher approaches them and Brittany quickly grabs the remaining cards from set three and thumbs through them. _Five_ , she mouths at Santana and Santana blinks in shock; she thought they were doing better for time this time. It’s crazy how fast the time gets away from her when she’s talking to Brittany. 

“The next part is the eye contact experiment,” the researcher explains as she fiddles with the recording equipment. She shuts it off and the quiet whirl of the machine leaves a weirdly loud silence; Santana had become so used to it that she hadn’t realized how much the whirl filled the vacant corners of the room. “You will both put these headphones on,” the researcher passes a set of overlarge headphones to both Santana and Brittany, “and press play once I leave the room. There’s about four minutes on the song you will listen to. Try to maintain eye contact throughout the four minutes.” The researcher collects whatever she came in to get and fiddles with the machine one more time. “Once this part is done, you will come and complete the exit questionnaire. Just turn right when you leave the door and follow the hallway to the end and we will set you up with the questionnaire and then you’ll be good to go. Any questions?” she directs at Santana.

Santana glances at Brittany quickly for confirmation before she shakes her head. The researcher nods and leaves the room, and before the door is even fully shut Brittany is leaning closer to Santana, her elbows resting on the table and the weight of her upper body against them. “I can’t believe how many we didn’t finish!”

“I know right?” Santana agrees, leaning closer to Brittany as well. “I thought we were actually doing better for time on this set.”

Brittany’s eyes dart to something past Santana’s ear before they settle shyly back on dark eyes. “I know I said this before, but it’s really easy to talk to you.”

Santana smiles at the pink blooming in Brittany’s cheeks again. “I know what you mean,” she murmurs, “It does not feel like an hour and a half has already passed.” Santana wants to tell Brittany that she really doesn’t want their time together to end, but the words get caught in her chest and instead she just puts the headphones on. Brittany follows her lead and Santana giggles for no real reason except that Brittany looks adorable; Brittany’s eyes are a little confused but she still smiles brightly back at Santana as she leans over to find the play button on the machine beside them. It takes a moment, but then the muffled silence of the room is replaced by a soft plucking guitar and Santana’s fingers itch with the urge to play her own guitar.

Santana almost forgets that she’s supposed to be maintaining eye contact until Brittany waves a hand in front of Santana’s face and Santana’s eyes are drawn to Brittany’s, teasing and catlike. “ _You think you know all about it then it seems you are wrong_ ,” comes through the headphones, and for some reason Santana’s stomach flips over. “ _She hit it out of the park before it had even begun_.” Brittany’s eyes are so bright, and when her face creases in a smile Santana can’t help but smile in return. “ _I needed sunshine in the darkness burning out._ ”

Santana tries to maintain eye contact, but that bright blue is too much and her eyes dart down to her fidgeting hands. It’s only because she’s staring at her hands so intensely that she doesn’t realize Brittany’s hand is reaching for hers until long fingers are already wrapping around hers. “ _Well now I know that I’m the fuel and she’s the spark._ ”

Her her head snaps up to Brittany and she swallows thickly at the warm smile on her face, and at Brittany’s encouraging nod, she twists her wrist and lets Brittany thread their fingers together, and it feels better than anything Santana’s ever felt before. She’s spent a lot of her life feeling like she’s always just a step behind everyone else, like everyone always knows something she doesn’t and she’s left floundering more often than not, like she’s _wrong_ just in general, but this is one of the first times Santana has felt unexplainably, unquestionably, inherently _right_. 

“ _We are bound to each other’s hearts…_ ”

//

Brittany’s hand is still in hers when a quiet click indicates the end of the song, and Santana’s never been as reluctant as she is right now, carefully untangling her hand from Brittany’s so she can take headphones off. There’s something bright and charged in the air between them, and Santana quickly takes a long drink of her water, almost draining the bottle.

Brittany takes her own headphones off before she leans to the side and fiddles with the machine until she finds the _stop_ button. She meets Santana’s eyes as she sits back and immediately starts laughing softly. “That was really intense,” she admits.

Santana’s already smiling back before she even realizes it. “Yeah it was, but,” Santana trails off at the bright sparkle in Brittany’s eyes and just smiles at her for a long moment before she manages to speak again, “it was worth it.”

Brittany’s smile brightens even as her eyes soften. “Yeah, it was.”

Santana swallows thickly and catches Brittany’s eyes again and her thoughts momentarily scatter and dissipate. “We should, um, probably go and do that exit questionnaire,” Santana finally manages to mumble.

Brittany nods but makes no move to stand. “If you finish before me will you wait in the lobby? I want to ask you something before you leave.”

Santana nods quickly and stands, playing with her hands because she doesn’t know what to do with them as she follows Brittany out the room and down the hall.

//

Santana almost runs right into Brittany as she’s leaving the questionnaire room. “Hi,” Brittany murmurs around a wide smile, and Santana finds herself quickly smiling back.

“Hey, we must have finished at, like, the same time,” Santana says with as soft laugh.

“At least you aren’t blocking the door this time,” Brittany teases as they set off down the hall together, “But blocking the hallway isn’t much better.”

“Oh hush you,” Santana complains. “I only ran into you, I didn’t block the hallway.”

Brittany giggles and that flicker of pride clenches Santana’s chest as they turn into the hallway that leads back to the lobby. It’s narrower than the last one, and Brittany trails behind Santana so they don’t jostle each other into the wall.

“So,” Brittany says suddenly, “can I ask you that thing I wanted to ask you?” Santana quickly agrees and waits for Brittany to continue. “I know we didn’t get to it, but do you mind if I ask you that last question anyways?” 

“Yeah, of course,” Santana says, sending Brittany a small smile over her shoulder.

“I think I might like someone, but I don’t know how to ask them out,” Brittany says, and Santana’s heart sinks. 

She swallows thickly and tries to keep the sudden heaviness closing her throat out of her voice, staring straight ahead. Her legs feel like someone just poured lead in them and she forces herself to keep walking despite the falter in her step. “Uh, you should— You should, um, just go ahead and ask them out, or whatever. Like, for a coffee date maybe, or, uh or something.”

“Thanks, that’s a good idea,” Brittany says, and it’s only because Santana is concentrating so hard on making sure her heart doesn’t drop too far into her stomach that she doesn’t notice Brittany’s bashful smile as she follows Santana down the narrow hallway.

Santana’s stomach sinks throughout the entire rest of the walk and into the lobby, all the way through finishing up the final papers and signatures for the research; she should have known that someone as pretty and kind and funny and smart as Brittany would already like someone. Despite the painful clenching of her heart while she pauses and waits for Brittany to finish her signatures, she knows she’ll ever meet anyone like Brittany ever again, and even with disappointment licking at her fingers and the ice creeping through her chest, she knows she’ll never regret getting even the chance to meet Brittany either.

As soon as Brittany’s done she turns and offers Santana a small, bright smile, and Santana forces herself to return it as they cross the lobby. They walk out the front doors together and for the first time since Brittany introduced herself, Santana feels acutely, intimately awkward.

“So,” Santana mumbles, “I’ll, uh, I guess this is goodbye then?”

Brittany shakes her head slowly and that bright, full-face smile of hers spreads, scrunching her freckled cheeks up against eyes as blue as the October sky above them. “Do you want to maybe go get a coffee?” she asks shyly.

Santana feels tension melt from her shoulders as her mind flashes back to the hallway and the heavy dread in her stomach dissipates like fog in the sunlight. She can’t help the smile that spreads across her face, or the butterflies that beat against her ribs, or the hope that takes root under her sternum. She nods quickly, so quickly that she would be embarrassed if Brittany wasn’t already smiling at her like that. 

“I’d really, _really_ like that.”


	4. Follow Up

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> By popular request, an epilogue!!

//

_Follow Up_

//

It’s Mercedes who convinces her to go to the follow up interview for the research project; Santana had whined about it for a couple days, saying she could just email them responses like probably everyone else would, but Mercedes is nothing if not persistent. It’s late October again, and Santana’s interning as a record producer at the same place Mercedes’ is interning at as a background vocalist, and she has no time for things like a follow up interview for some research project from a year ago, but Mercedes is insistent. 

“Girl, we may not be roommates anymore, but I’m using my authority as best friend to tell you that you gotta do it,” Mercedes complains for about the fourth time, “if not for the research then for yourself. Your name will be immortalized in this paper for generations of tired psych students to come.”

Santana laughs and rolls her eyes. “The experiment is anonymous. The most I’ll get is some weird pseudonym.”

“Still,” Mercedes says, and Santana just tries her best to ignore Mercedes until she can head home, but Mercedes continues to bug her for the rest of the day at work.

In the end, Santana only does it so she can shut Mercedes up, and because she does feel just a little smug about her participation in the experiment and she kind of wants to brag about it a little, which is how she ends up waking up before six on an October Saturday morning, again.

//

The apartment is freezing when she wakes up, which is less to do with the heat going out like it always used to at her old apartment and more to do with the cooling weather and the fact that the warm body next to her is crazy and likes to sleep with the window open. Santana rolls over and shuts her blaring alarm off, smirking at the displeased groan behind her. She rolls back over and brushes blonde hair out of eyes that are screwed shut with stubbornness against the morning light struggling to get through the cracks in their blinds. Santana kisses a bed-warm cheek, waiting until she feels a smile bunch the skin under her lips, before crawling out of bed, hissing when her bare feet hit the cold floor and stumbling towards the bathroom.

She runs the shower hot while she brushes her teeth, hoping that the steam filling the bathroom will warm her up. She showers quickly so she can dry her thick hair before she’s forced to walk through the cold city. She’s ready before seven, and when she walks back into the bedroom she finds a still sleeping lump on the bed, except said lump is curled up on Santana’s side of the bed now, buried under the covers until only wisps of blonde hair are poking out, cuddling with Santana’s pillow since Santana herself is unavailable. 

Santana pauses in the doorway and smiles, taking a moment to admire the fact that she’s here, in this moment, so far from where she was last year that she almost doesn’t recognize her life, but in the best way possible.

“I can feel you watching me, you creep,” a raspy voice mumbles.

Santana giggles. “Good, lazybones. We need to leave by seven thirty at the latest, and you still need to shower.”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah. I’ll get there.”

Santana giggles again when the lump on the bed remains motionless. She crosses the room and crawls into the bed, flopping down on the lump and grinning when a groan reaches her ears. She shifts around until she can nuzzle her nose against a warm neck. “Come on, Britt-Britt,” she mumbles into the skin against her lips, “I know you’re the one who got Mercedes to annoy me into going today.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” is the haughty reply, but Santana can hear the smile in her voice. She just nuzzles even closer, sighing into Brittany’s bed-warm skin. There’s a beat of silence before Brittany shifts under her until she can roll over just enough to find Santana’s lips with her own. “Okay, fine,” she mumbles against Santana’s mouth around a smile even though Santana didn’t say anything, “I did.”

Santana laughs into Brittany’s mouth, and that bright thing flutters and spasms deep in her chest just like it did the very first time she saw Brittany’s smile. “Sneaky,” Santana teases as she pulls away. Brittany’s arms twitch underneath the covers, and Santana knows that if she wasn’t trapping Brittany against the bed with her sprawled body, that they would never make it to the interview. “You gotta go shower,” she says, and Brittany’s slight pout is too cute not to kiss away, and Santana indulges herself for a long, deep moment. “Or we’ll be late,” she continues breathlessly as she pulls away. Brittany’s arms twitch under the covers again, desperate, Santana knows, to escape and wrap around the body on hers, but Santana takes the moment to quickly clamber off Brittany and hop out of bed. Brittany’s pout is even deeper than before and it takes ever bit of Santana’s self-control to not say _screw it_ to the follow up interview and crawl back into bed; she placates herself by hovering over the bed and pecking Brittany’s pouting lips before fleeing to the kitchen where she won’t be tempted to crawl back into bed.

She has a bowl of cereal while she brews coffee into a travel mug, mixing it with creamer and a little to much sugar, just how Brittany likes it. The shower starts running at seven fifteen and Santana fondly rolls her eyes; Brittany really loves pushing the boundaries, playing with the restraints life puts on her, and every time she thinks she can’t love Brittany more for it, she manages to fall a little bit more in love with her, even when it makes them run late to almost everything.

Once seven thirty hits, Santana shrugs her jacket on and pockets her keys and phone and wallet, waiting by the door for Brittany to stumble down the hallway like she always does. “Come on Britt!” Santana calls through the apartment. “If you don’t hurry we’re really going to be late!”

Brittany shouts something back in response, but it’s so muffled that Santana can’t understand it. Based on Brittany’s grumbling as she hops into the hallway, one foot bare and the other one being shoved into her sneaker, Santana figures she knows pretty well what Brittany meant. Brittany manages to get both feet in socks and shoes without tipping over, and before Santana can mention it, Brittany curses under her breath and rushes back through the apartment, reappearing moments later with her jacket hastily shoved on.

“Remind me again why I wanted to do this dumb interview at eight in the morning,” Brittany whines.

Santana laughs and reaches forward to tangle the fingers of her free hand with Brittany’s. “Because you secretly love it, and because you want to brag to everyone that you have practically the best _how we met_ story ever.”

Brittany gives Santana an unamused look, but the affection underlying it makes that lifting warmth bloom under Santana’s sternum again. “No, babe, that’s why _you_ want to do this.”

Santana shrugs. “Ehh same thing.”

Brittany giggles and shakes her head, her eyes only now landing on the travel mug in Santana’s other hand. Her face relaxes and her eyes go liquid soft and that adoring smile of hers scrunches the fading freckles on her cheeks up against bright blue eyes.

“One coffee,” Santana says, offering Brittany the mug with a flourishing bow. 

Brittany melts as she takes the mug, gently tugging on their tangled hands until Santana falls against her body and she can fit their mouths together. Santana knows they don’t _really_ have time, but Brittany’s mouth is warm and soft against hers, and Santana doesn’t _really_ care if they’re late.

Brittany pulls back first, but only far enough that she can nuzzle their noses together and mumble her _thanks_ , before kissing Santana warm and soft again. Santana pulls back and lets her forehead rest against Brittany’s with a smile that she knows is dimpling her cheeks. “Morning,” she whispers, and Brittany quickly pecks her lips again with a smile of her own.

“Morning,” she mumbles, “I love you.”

Santana sighs and nuzzles a little closer to Brittany. “I love you too,” she whispers, and Brittany’s eyes scrunch again as she kisses Santana again and again and again.

//

They’re only about five minutes late because Brittany knows how to elbow her way through a subway crowd better than anyone Santana knows, and Santana usually just holds onto Brittany’s hand as tight as she can and lets herself be pulled along.

They have a couple papers to sign at the front desk, and then they’re lead down the hallway, back to the room they were in last year, back to where they first met, back to the very start.

Santana can’t help the sappy smile that breaks across her face when she follows Brittany through the door to find the same table and recording equipment, and Brittany catches sight of her smile and quickly swoops down to kiss Santana’s cheek. There’s two chairs set up on one side, two bottles of water on the table in front of each one, and a single chair across the table. They take their seats, Brittany pulling out Santana’s chair for her and earning a kiss on the cheek. Even though they were late, they were warned that they might still have a ten minute wait while the researchers finish up with some of the other partnered pairs, so they settle in and start chatting about anything and everything that comes to mind.

Santana plays with Brittany’s fingers and listens to her explain the latest formula she’s working on as Columbia’s newest graduate TA and the dance routine she’s working on with the kids down the street from them; the easy domesticity they have makes that lifting warmth flutter in her chest until it feels like she might burst and she quickly leans forward to kiss Brittany right in the middle of her explaining why the proof she last used didn’t work out.

Pink blooms across Brittany’s cheeks and she smiles shyly. “What was that for?”

Santana just shakes her head breathlessly, biting her lip to try and contain her smile but when that doesn’t work she just kisses Brittany again. “I just love you a lot,” she murmurs. “And being back here reminds me how far we’ve come since last year and I— I just really love you.”

Brittany smiles, her blue eyes sparkling bright and clear, and Santana’s chest spasms again. “I love you too,” Brittany whispers, her voice bright and a little choked, bringing her other hand up so she can trace the lines of muscle and bone in Santana’s hand. “Sometimes I can’t believe how far we’ve come since then, but I also can’t imagine ending up anywhere else than where we are, right now.”

Santana’s about to answer when the door opens and she jumps, and Brittany giggles, and Santana grins, wide and unabashed.

The researcher from last year comes into the room, looking tired and put out, but her eyes land on Santana’s and Brittany’s tangled fingers on the table and she brightens and relaxes, her smile proud and genuine.

She quickly greets them and takes a moment to gush over how adorable they are and how excited she is that they’re together before she starts fiddling with the recording equipment, and that old, familiar whirl fills the corners of the room.

“This is pair number seventeen,” the researcher starts as she sits across from them, “the first successful couple from this experiment.”

//

The whole interview takes less than an hour, and the time goes just as fast as it did the last time they were both in the room, and before they know it they’re back in the lobby, signing some final forms before Brittany’s tugging her outside into the weak autumn sunlight.

Santana stifles a yawn against Brittany’s shoulder, feeling sleepy for the first time this morning, and Brittany presses a smiling kiss to the top of her head. 

“Wanna stop at that cafe on fifty-seventh?” Brittany asks, already heading down the street to the closest subway entrance.

Santana nods and kisses Brittany’s shoulder, squeezing Brittany’s hand in hers and, despite her sudden exhaustion, she takes a moment to savour the warmth blooming in her chest and she takes a moment to just breathe in this point in time, this girl, this entire past year. Brittany’s warm and solid against her, and Santana cuddles closer in the chilly autumn air, and she can’t help believing that this was always where she going to end up, where she was always supposed to be.

 


End file.
